Tenby 1966

"The hotel hasn't got any stars or anything," said my mother, "so we don't know what it will be like."

In those days travelling through rural Wales was an Adventure, requiring a Route Planner Map, specially ordered from the AA, which unfolded as you went. In those days we travelled through inland Wales, staying overnight at a pub in a village called Llandinam on the way. My brother Michael was a baby. The car was a green and yellow Shooting Brake, a sort of primitive hatchback which made a loud bang when the Communist slammed the boot shut.

After travelling for half of Saturday - because we couldn't set off until the Communist had worked in his Chemist shop on Saturday morning - and half of Sunday, the map unfolded onto its last page and suddenly the signs said Tenby.

We followed the signs for North Cliff, as instructed, and drove up the hill until we could drive no further, and there was a big white hotel with Park Hotel on the side.

A middle-aged man in a checked shirt was busy with a cement mixer. Seeing us drive up, he wiped the cement off his hand and stuck it through the car window.

"Hello," he said, "I'm Howells."

It took us a little while to work out that this was the owner of the hotel.

We climbed out of the car and walked five yards to the clifftop to look at the view.

It took me no time at all to work out that this, to me, was Paradise.

We wandered round to the back of the hotel, where we found Paradise's Extra Bonus:

Beautiful beach: safe swimming in the sea: more swimming in the pool: unspoilt beaches round about: good food: great scenery and lovely walks. The Howells family were a bonus.

We liked it. A lot. We've been there every summer now for over forty years. All the best things are still the same. In February, Emily and Gareth will get married there.